Red Herring
by StrangerThanLife
Summary: Hello readers! This is my first fanfiction on this account! And I noticed that there is a disturbing lack of "Clue" fanfiction, so I decided to test my luck and write one. Note that this story is a prequel, as to how ddy knew of the characters in the first place, and it is much darker and dramatic than the movie. Plus this fanfiction is based on the movie. So I hope you enjoy!
1. Red Herring

(Hello everyone. I noticed that there are not enough fan fictions of the movie, "Clue," so I decided to write one. This story is a prequel, and much darker and more serious than the movie. But nevertheless, I hope everyone likes it!)

"Can you believe what the United States is coming to?" A woman sipped her tea and the other one nodded.

"Yes, I know. Everybody is being accused, left and right. What's next, public hangings?" The other woman laughed as a tall man, dressed in a fine suit came in.

"More tea ladies?" He asked, a British accent coming through in his voice. Both of them smiled, "Yes please." One of them, a dark haired beauty, named Edith said, blushing. He came over and smiled, before kissing her, and poured the hot drink.

"What are you two ladies talking about?" The other woman sighed, rubbing her head.

"Well, we were talking about McCarthyism. I mean, everybody is being accused these days. I feel like it's the Salem Witch Trials, all over again!" She shouted, gesturing with her hands, she looked at the couple. "I mean, Wadsworth, what if you and your wife Edith were accused? What would happen to your baby?"

Edith patted her stomach, "Wadsworth, the baby, and I are going to be just fine. I promise. Trust me I don't agree with this whole McCarthy-" A soft cough echoed through the room and they all turned. A man, about the height of Wadsworth was standing in the doorway, a scowl upon his face. His eyes were the color of coal, and they glinted, angrily. Wadsworth sucked in a breath, as Edith looked down, ashamed.

"Edith, Margaret, I would leave the room. Now," he whispered and they followed. The man, named Mr. Boddy came stomping in, furiously muttering to himself.

¨What´s wrong sir?¨ Wadsworth asked, standing up, a look of concern upon the butler's´ face. Mr. Boddy took a seat, rubbing his head.

¨It's the goddamn United States of America. Nobody knows what they're putting us into, letting these communists into our country, not doing a thing about it. We´re losing our money, Wadsworth. I´m going broke, working for an FBI, that doesn't even know what they're doing.¨

The butler nodded,

¨I´m terribly sorry sir, I understand how frustrating McCarthyism can be.¨

¨They're layin' me off Wadsworth.¨

A look of surprise cast over on the butler's' face, fear momentarily in his eyes. ¨But why sir? You're working for J. Edgar Hoover, one of the top anti-communists in the United States. Why on earth would they fire you?¨ Mr. Boddy rubbed his head, wanting nothing more than Yvette, his money, and some aspirin.

¨It's the goddamn liberals, saying that McCarthyism is unlawful. Wait until a nuclear bomb drops on us and then letś see what they say.¨ Wadsworth gulped, and spoke up.

¨What about your bills? How will they get paid? My wife and I will be homeless! We can´t be homeless, she´s expecting!" He spat out, beginning to get worried. ¨She can´t be out with these hooligans and prostitutes and criminals. And frankly, neither can I.¨

¨Mr. Boddy? Do you need anything?¨ A woman came from the kitchen. Her hair was perfectly curled up into a bun, not a single hair out of place. Makeup framed her delicate, lovely face, which was only with a lovelier body. Her large, shapely bust was accented into a french maids uniform.

¨Not, now Yvette, this is man's talk. I'll be with you later. We will have some ´business´ to discuss.¨ Yvette looked to Wadsworth, who smiled nervously back at her. With a worried look, she left. Suddenly, Mr. Boddy picked his head up. ¨Prostitutes and criminals,¨ he murmured, suddenly having an idea.

¨Sir?¨ Wadsworth bent down to look at his employer, who´s eyes were glistening with madness. Mr. Boddy began tearing up the room, rummaging through his desks, throwing out pencils and papers. He turned over bookshelves, exploring through the contents of them.

¨Son of a bitch, where did I put those file-¨

¨Are you looking for these sir?¨ Mr. Boddyś head whipped around. Wadsworth was holding up the files of the six individuals that he was ordered to throw away. He pushed the butler out of the way, sending him sprawling against the wall.

¨Yesss.¨ He hissed, looking over them. Green, Mustard, Peacock, Plum, Scarlett, and White. All criminals, all communists in Mr. Boddy´s eyes. Wadsworth coughed and Boddy gasped, bringing himself back to reality.

¨Who are those people?¨ Wadsworth asked, beginning to worry over his boss´ insanity.

¨The worst communists ever known to man.¨ Wadsworth gulped, not knowing his boss´ intentions as his eyes scanned over the civilians.

¨Communists, sir? They look like ordinary people,¨ he butted in. Mr. Boddy chuckled, not looking up from the papers.

¨No, they just put on that facade. It´s a red herring. They commit every sin known to mankind.¨ He paused, looking at his faithful butler. ¨Wadsworth? Would you be a dear and write a couple of letters? I promise that nor you or your beautiful wife will never go out into the street. Neither will your future daughter. But, you have to do exactly as I say. Kapeesh?¨ Wadsworth gulped, his employer shoving the files and some paper and calligraphy pens into Wadsworth´s trembling hands.

¨Y-yes sir.¨ Mr. Boddy stood up, patting the butler's back.

"Good, I knew I can count on you. I promise that your actions will be rewarded." He turned to leave, before looking over his shoulder. "Oh, and Wadsworth?" Wadsworth looked up, and Mr. Boddy smiled. "I overheard that your wife is against McCarthyism. Can you please teach her to not talk about her distaste in my presence?" He snickered and left, calling for Yvette, leaving the helpless butler with the piles of paper.

In the silence, he began to write.


	2. Red Herring: Scarlett Fever

It was about 8 AM, in the District of Colombia. Inside this office, was a long woman. She puffed on a cigarette, and snuffed it out, before blotting her scarlett lipstick, throwing the used tissue into the trash. The room was olive green and empty. No customers yet. It was too early. The curtains were shudders, slats of light peering through, illuminating her face. It would remind her of one of those film noirs that used to be popular a few years back. She knew she could of been as infamous as Lauren Bacall, but no one accepted her talent. But now, in this office, she kind of was.

Natalia Scarlett looked up as the office bell rang. Yvette came in, swallowing her shame. Scarlett came up from her black chair and pulled her in before drawing the curtains. Her brown eyes shifted cautiously. ¨Are you Yvette?¨ She asked, her silky voice a whisper.

¨Yes madam. I am.¨ She looked up, trying to not look suspicious. Yvette couldn't believe that Mr. Boddy was making her a prostitute to get his money. It was as illegal as the supposed communists that he had despised so much. Scarlett sat down, beckoning Yvette to do so too.

¨Now, I have a few questions for you. This will be confidential, since I don't want to get my behind in jail, and I don't think you want to either,¨ She spitted out, before pulling out her purse and taking a cigarette and lighting it with a match, the sizzle of the strike ringing. Yvette nodded, putting on a serious face. It wasn't like she couldn´t be a prostitute, she surely had the body and attitude to be one.

¨Now, why did you decide to become an escort in the first place?¨ Yvette took a breath, knowing that the first step to get this job was to be assertive.

¨Well, a woman has got to have fun, don't you think so? What can be more fun than getting money, and getting pleasure from doing so? It's like a woman´s dream.¨

Scarlett laughed, ¨I can't think of anything else really. Why do you think I run this business?" Her beautiful face suddenly went cold, her hazel eyes gleaming. ¨I promise you, this is exclusive. If you leak this information, you'll be fired. No questions asked. Got it?¨ Scarlett snapped, pointing a red painted finger at her.

Yvette nodded, before clearing her throat. ¨I mean, yes Madam.¨

¨I have two clients for you, one name is Mike Mustard. He is a high ranking veteran, and coming in at exactly four o'clock. The other one is a man who goes by . He will be here on Saturday afternoon.¨ Yvette looked at the clock: 8:37 AM. Why was she doing this? Mr. Boddy already used her on his own, now she has to be used by other people. He never loved her, he said that himself. She didn't think that he loved anybody except himself. And maybe his money.

Scarlett got up, her red dress framing her body. She was thin and the metallic dress seemed to slink off her body, and it really showed off her auburn bob. Her fingers traced a candlestick, intricately designed. Suddenly, the door opened, and Scarlett gasped, her eyes widening. A cop walked in. He was plump, and short. Scarlett's eyes rolled. ¨Oh my goodness officer. You scared me half to death!¨ Yvette raised an eyebrow as Scarlett crossed over to the police officer, exhaling.

´Does the cop know about this?' She wondered, making a mental note to tell Mr. Boddy about it. The officer frowned.

¨I wouldn't be scaring you if you hadn't owned this business.¨ He reprimanded. She smirked and offered a cigar, which he declined. ¨You can get yourself into serious trouble, young lady. What if the government found out?¨ She chuckled, fiddling sexily with his badge.

¨It seems as if the government already found out.¨ He glared at her, unamused. She rolled her eyes, annoyed. ¨Fine, Iĺl get you your payment.¨ She went to her desk, bending over and opening a drawer. Yvette looked down and the officer nodded at her, his face contorted with pity. Scarlett went back and gave the officer a large amount of money.

¨Thank you.¨ He replied, before adding, ¨Oh, Miss Scarlett?¨ She turned, and he handed her a letter. Yvette gasped as it was from Mr. Boddy.

She looked at the title and murmured, ¨Thanks,¨ and the officer left.

Scarlett must of noticed the look on Yvette's face. ¨Oh, nothing to worry about dearie. I´ve been paying his silence for a few years now.¨ Yvette nodded, and Scarlett put out her cigarette, the scent of ash filling the room.

¨Now you must not let anybody in on our little secret, or I´ll blackmail you for everything you've got. Kapeish?¨

Yvette looked down, nodding. ¨Yes, Miss Scarlett.¨ Miss Scarlett picked her head up with her hand.

¨Now go upstairs. Colonel Mustard will be with you in a few hours.¨

Yvette stood up, grabbing the lingerie that she was going to wear as Scarlett took out the letter.

Dear Miss Scarlett,

My name is not important. What is important is that I know what kind of business you run. You don´t know me, but I know you. And quite frankly, itś disgusting. I also work with other government officials and I can expose you for your criminal ways. In just one phone call, everyone will know who you are, and your reputation will be ruined. So, if you don't want your name on the front pages of the paper, I would highly suggest you pay $5,000 of your earnings every month, to the enclosed address.

Sincerely,

Boddy.

Scarlett's face went pale, as she took a deep breath. Someone knew her secret, and she had no choice to give the person $5000 a month or she would be completely destroyed.

Yvette opened the bedroom door. In front of her was a bed. Another bed of lies.


	3. Red Herring: Plum s Problems

The woman walked in, her hoop skirt just barely being able to fit through the door. The therapist looked up, and adjusted his circular frame glasses. She looked down, uncomfortable. She hated that look in his eyes.

She _despised_ him.

"How you doing honeybunch?" He murmured in her ear, using the pet name he gave to her. She shivered, forcing a smile and sitting down.

"Fine." She replied coldly. The brown, leather, chair that used to be so soft, so inviting, was now like a chair of nails. She wanted to leave. He sat down and took out his notebook.

"What has been going on with you sweetie?" She looked up, trying to hold in her distaste.

"I got a job as-"

" A job?" He interrupted, straightening his plum suit, and lighting his pipe, puffing out some smoke. Professor Plum was a good psychologist, but he was also a good seducer as well.

She knew that _very_ well.

"Y-yes, as a telegram girl." She stammered, as he rolled his brown chair closer to her. She took a breath and looked around the room. The once sunny yellow walls, were now the faded yellow of puke. She hated this room. Hated to smell that musty smoke. Hated that man. That wicked way of words.

"The one with the cute outfits?" She looked away, barely able to talk. He put down his notebook and ballpoint pen, and squinted, his green eyes trying to lock with her blue ones. She adjusted her coiffured brown hair, uncomfortable.

"Is something wrong miss?" He asked, beginning to rub her shoulders. She flinched and held in the urge to puke.

"Just, stress." She whispered, looking down. Maybe he would notice her shyness, and back away.

"Stress about what? Youŕe taking your medication right?" She nodded.

"Everyday."

"Well, good. Do you think we need to up the dosage?"

She didn´t answer.

His hands were massaging the crook of her neck. His hands were calloused now, and she used to like that, but now they were the hands of a completely different entity. Her stomach churned. "Is there anything in particular that you are stressed about?" She swallowed.

"Well, I feel alone most of the time. There's nobody there for me, I feel like nobody likes me.¨ She expelled out.

Bile rose up to her mouth.

"Oh honeybunch, you know I´m here for you. Always." She turned to look at him, her eyes having a mixture of rage and fear. He pulled back, and she finally took a breath, crossing her legs, and adjusting her skirt, pulling it down over her knees. "You have your coping skills right? How about we work on them together." A crooked smile appeared on his face and he slicked back his balding sandy brown hair. Let´s try some deep breathing. "I´ll work with you." He suddenly came up from behind her, holding her waist and pressing her body against his own, much like he has done with her before, along with many other women. "Okay close your eyes." She squeezed them shut, trying to block out her memory of him, grabbing her purse as if it was her shield, her sword, her life. His breath smelled of liquor, as it usually did. He always had a flask in his desk drawer of Jack Daniels. Self-medication, he would joke.

 _Ha. Ha._

"Breathe in…" She did so, feeling his nether regions begin to stir. She opened her purse and her hands shook, as she began to take out the discharge letter. "Breathe out…"She did so, feeling the sensation of him against her. That once loving, caring, sensation. Tears filled her eyes. "Breathe in…" She did so, sniffling. "Breathe out…" It was like he was suffocating her.

"Professor Plum?" She blinked away tears. He pulled away, raising an eyebrow.

"What is it dear?" She handed him the slip, and he opened it up, adjusting his glasses and reading it. He chuckled sadly, "You want a discharge?" He rumpled his salt and pepper hair as she pushed back strands of hers.

"Y-Yes. I don't like it here anymore," she choked out, standing up on her wobbly legs, lined with ripped stockings.

He sat down.

"Why? We give the very best to our clients."

"That's the problem."

"Hmm?" He looked up and leaned in, his elbow resting on his leg.

"Professor Plum, I-I've wanted to tell you this for a very long time. I, I, I hate you," she froze, hesitating, shaking, trying to find the words that were strangled into her throat. "I loved you once. You were once so kind. You paid attention to me, lavished me with love, sex, gifts, happiness," she began to cry. "You are a good therapist, but you are a horrible man. I know that I'm not the only one you're seeing, and frankly, that causes most of my stress. Thank you for helping me at the beginning, really. But ever since I found out you've been sleeping around with other girls, I honestly want to puke when I see you. I can´t look at you the same way ever again, not just as a lover, but also as a therapist. So just sign the slip please, because I can't be in this room with you anymore."

He silently did so, baffled by her statement.

How could she have possibly known that he had been doing that?

Did someone rat him out?

If so, whom?

He did love her, truly. He just liked a bit of excitement. Being a psychologist could really drain your mental energy. But as she cried, he was ashamed. As he gave her the slip, he handed out his arm, silently begging her to at least shake his hand, but she just turned and left.

He sat down, rubbing his head. What a day. What an awful person he was. He truly was despicable.

Beep! The pager rang.

"Hello?"

"Yes Plum. I have a letter here for you."

'Oh great,' he thought, 'just what I need.'

"Okay, bring it in," He groaned, hanging up. He sat in the silence, thinking.

The door opened, and Plum took the letter. He got his prized 1927 letter opener, given to him by his father, and opened it.

Dear Professor Plum,

Hello. You do not know me, but I know you. Honeybunch. Ha, some therapist that you are. Causing more stress than curing it. But to the point. I know what position you hold in the government, and abusing it like that is vile. Now, if you want to keep your job, you must pay $5000.00 dollars a month to the enclosed address. If not, you will be exposed. Now, we wouldn't want that, would we?

Sincerely,

Boddy.

Plum gulped, shocked, and looked into his wallet.

Seven one thousand dollar bills were in there.

No, we wouldn't want that.


	4. Red Herring: Betrayed

(AUTHORS NOTE: Okay I know that author´s notes are a _very_ cringey thing to do. And I promise I will not use them often. In the movie ¨Clue,¨ Wadsworth explains how he and his wife were working for Mr. Boddy, before he betrayed them because Wadsworth´s wife was a socialist. After that, she had committed suicide. They don´t say how they were betrayed, so this is what I have come up with. To spoil it, there is a rape scene in this chapter. I am a sexual abuse survivor and I know how serious rape is, and how it is just tossed around as plot points in fanfictions, which is a horrible thing to do. Since rape in many fan works are taken very lightly, I will write more in later chapters on how this affects Edith. I do not want this to be taken lightly, as it is a subject that shouldn´t be taken lightly. So with that, if you are easily disturbed by rape, sexual assault, or sexual harassment, **DO NOT** read this chapter. And if you or someone you love is being sexually assaulted, here is a link to which you can contact for help. /about-national-sexual-assault-telephone-hotline. You are not alone. With that, let´s begin the chapter.)

"Wadsworth?" The butler looked at his wife.

"Yes?" He asked, looking up.

"You don't have to write those letters." He smiled a sad smile, as he kissed her passionately.

"I'm sorry Edith, but I do. I wish I didn´t have to, honestly. But I have to protect you and our baby."

She looked down at her belly.

"But this is against the law, they haven't done anything wrong." Wadsworth winced, feeling guilty. She was right.

"I promise, I'll talk to Mr. Boddy about this, love. I will." He went to grab his coat, suddenly feeling a chill up his body.

 _Damn, she's right. What the bloody hell am I doing?_

He turned to her, as she followed him, her baby bump appearing through her black dress. "I cannot wait until we have our daughter." He murmured, pulling his wife close and kissing her. She giggled, feeling safe and warm and loved in his arms. She remembered that they first met at a government dance. He was working for Mr. Boddy, who was a part of the FBI at the time. Before all this mess about McCarthyism. She was a nurse, stationed in England, during World War II. She had came back from helping the wounded soldiers and they saw each other. It was truly love at first sight. He thought she was radiant in her strapless flamingo ballgown. Her black hair was put up in a french twist, as her neck glittered from a diamond necklace. He had went up to her and asked, "Excuse me miss, but may I have this dance?"

She had blushed and smiled, dimples forming onto her cheeks, as she said, "Of course." And they did. Time seemed to stand still, as her satin gloves wrapped around him. They danced the night away. He loved her so much, he kissed and rubbed her baby bump. Her voice broke the silence.

"I thought of a name." He looked at her, excited.

"What is it?"

"Margaret." He sighed happily and spinned her around.

"That's a beautiful name Edith! It's almost as beautiful as yours." She giggled, and he looked at her motherly glow.

"C'mon." She muttered, rolling her eyes, and he laughed.

"You have a beautiful name. As beautiful as the sun, the sky, the stars…"

"The dirt," she snorted, laughing.

"Ah, yes, but you would make the earthworms swoon." He murmured, kissing her again, putting on his bowl hat.

"Where are you going?" She asked.

"To the store. I have to pick up a few things, would you like anything?" She smirked and kissed his neck, causing him to groan.

"You," she whispered seductively. He blushed.

"I'll be sure to get that for you tonight." He smirked and snickered, waving goodbye. She smiled, and folded her arms, shaking her head and giggling.

 _"_ _What were you saying about how Wadsworth shouldn't follow my orders?"_

Edith gasped, whirling around to see Mr. Boddy appearing behind the living room doorway, leaning against the oak wood post.

"You…" She sneered, her face contorting with anger. He raised his eyebrows, pouting smugly, and raising his arms.

"The one and only." She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Did Wadsworth tell you about our little plan?" She grunted.

"Yes, and I don't like it. Yes, they may be criminals, but they're not communists. And blackmailing for money isn't legal either." She crossed over to him as he chuckled, locking the front door and putting the key in his jacket pocket. "Even if all of that was legal, why would you have my husband do your dirty work?"

"It's not just your husband."

Edith's face drained from color.

"W-What?"

"I've hired other people too. Yvette, Police, Taxi Drivers, Innocent young girls." Edith was speechless, and if she had hated Boddy then, she despised him now.

"You're despicable. You know that? You're goddamn despicable." She spat out as he came closer to her. He was tall and strong, unlike her, and she cowered. "I'm going to call the police." She ran toward the black telephone, placed on the living room coffee table.

9-1

 _*click*_

Mr. Boddy grabbed her arm, roughly, causing the phone to clatter onto the ground.

"I know I'm despicable."

¨LET GO OF ME!" She screamed, trying to leave as he twisted her arm.

"You know," He murmured, pinning her on the couch. She screamed and wailed, trying to leave, trying to get away from this man. Her boss. "I know you're a socialist too. And since Wadsworth won't teach you the proper way to behave around me, I will." He began to rip off her dress.

"WADSWORTH!" She screamed and he smirked.

"Your husband can't protect you now," he whispered covering her mouth. He was too heavy and too strong. She couldn't get away. As Edith looked up to her boss, the man that was supposed to respect her as an employee, she went into shock. She couldn't do anything as he forced himself on her. He was wearing out her strength, and she might hurt the baby. She sobbed as he took over her, ashamed, scared, and disgusted as he violated her.

Violated her body, mind, and heart.

He got up afterwards, and she sobbed. Red marks covered Edith's chest, thighs, neck, and arms. "How could you?" She screamed, approaching him. He chuckled, pulling up his pants and putting on his belt. She slapped him, and he drew back. "Wait until Wadsworth hears about this!" She screamed, as he grabbed her arm.

"You won't. If you tell as much as one person about this 'exchange' that came between us, I will expose you. What will that be, ten, twenty years in prison? Not even Wadsworth can keep you from the police, since there is no denying that you are a socialist."

Edith glared in fear and her baby kicked.


End file.
